


Of Sound Heart and Mind

by misha_collins_butt



Series: Wincest/Weecest [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Brother/Brother, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Hell, Sibling Incest, Sounding, Wet Dream, bottom!Dean, but also because it was meant to be, dream to reality, motel sex, penile sounding, sex as consolation, you know that boy's a bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: -Sam catches Dean having a wet dream about him-he gets upset and escapes to the bathroom, miscommunication ensues-queue mother hen Dean and love confessions-wherein they have motel sex and Sam finds out Dean is kinkier than he thought
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester, Wincest
Series: Wincest/Weecest [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597030
Comments: 3
Kudos: 128





	Of Sound Heart and Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Important A/N: The sounding in this piece is purely fictional and does not reflect the proper guidelines for sounding. Please practise sounding SAFELY. For information about how to more accurately experience sounding, follow this link - https://sextoycollective.com/urethral-sounding
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do NOT condone this dynamic irl and do NOT want it to be canon.
> 
> I don't own the characters, but this is unbeta'd so I do own the mistakes.

One of the things you quickly learn about being cooped up in tight quarters with another person nearly twenty-four seven, is that the 'no privacy' policy tends to extend into sleeping territory.

It's not unusual for either one of them to wake up to the other in the midst of a snore-fest or silly sounding nightmare. Which is why Sam is entirely unsurprised, when he's halfway through a good article on his laptop about the way veganism affects the sacred land of indigenous tribes in South America, to hear a contented sigh from the other bed where his brother is sleeping.

He snaps his head up and gives Dean a weary sidelong glance. Usually when the older hunter makes a noise like that, it's an indication of...well, adult fantasies. If Sam's about to be propelled into another one of the shows his brother puts on whenever he has a wet dream, it's not gonna be while Sam's sober enough to pay attention. And since it's nine in the morning, and Sam's no alcoholic, doing thirteen shots of tequila is for sure off the table. Sam thinks he'll just take a shower and hope that Dean is done by the time he gets out. He should probably wash off his post-jog sweat, anyway. He hadn't earlier since he didn't want to wake Dean, but now he's pretty sure he doesn't want to let Dean sleep. At least, he doesn't want to be around for it.

Sam closes his laptop and sets it aside, about to get up and grab some real clothes for the day, but just as he's pushing himself out of bed, Dean calls out his name. At first, he thinks he may have misconstrued the earlier moaning as happy when it was actually distressed, but then Dean gasps, fingers twitching where they're curled in the sheets, and Sam's name falls from his lips again.

When Dean's hips start rocking into the mattress, Sam knows there's no more room for plausible deniability. He's frozen in shock, watching his brother rut against the bedding, and he finds himself kind of almost hoping he'll get to see Dean's face when the older man comes.

The thought doesn't come as a surprise - Sam's had thoughts exactly like it for more than a decade. Usually he's much better at fighting off the desire to jump his brother's bones, has gotten good at stuffing those terrible, sick wants deep down inside and doing literally anything to ignore them. It's a lot harder when Dean is less than four feet away, practically begging Sam to touch him in all the ways Sam craves to, all the ways brothers definitely shouldn't.

Face simmering bright red, Sam scrambles to his feet and stumbles toward his duffel. As he yanks out a shirt and pants at random without checking to make sure that they're daytime appropriate, he shouts over his shoulder, very deliberately not looking back, "Dean, wake up, it's late."

"Mnheh?!" Dean exclaims and Sam hears the rustling of the bedspread as he twists around to check to room for his Sammy. It's how he always wakes up, always has for much longer than Sam has had a stream of consciousness. He can picture without seeing it the way Dean is probably rubbing his eyes with that stupidly adorable grumpy face of his. "Wha', wha' s'it? 'M awake."

"I'm gonna take a shower. We should head out soon," Sam mutters, trying his best to hide his burning skin. Unsuccessfully, apparently.

"Woah, there, where's the fire, dude?" Dean comments, sitting up. Sam watches him at the corner of his vision as Dean tries inconspicuously to cover up his morning wood, and he blushes harder, swallowing his voice so Dean can't hear the way it would shake if Sam were to answer. Suddenly, Dean guesses, "Oh shit. Was I makin' noises again?" A coy laugh tumbles through Dean's chest. "Sorry, man, not much I can do about that."

With his cheeks now glowing, Sam feels rage seep into his veins. He fists his hands and finally looks his brother in the eye, stormy glare, and spits, "You could try not having wet dreams about  _ me _ , you fucking asshole."

And with that, Sam stomps off into the bathroom and slams the door, leaving Dean to gawk after him.

He's only in there for a few minutes, shaking like a leaf as he balances himself on the edge of the tub, when there's a soft knock on the door and Dean's pleading voice, "Sammy? Please come outta there. Just...just let me explain, okay?" When Sam doesn't respond, knowing there's a possibility that it may shift Dean into panic-and-rescue-Sammy mode, he hears Dean wait a second before there's a light thud against the door. He must've hung his head against it. In a crackling whisper barely audible through the wood, Dean speaks up again, "Please open the door, Sam. Please. So we can talk about this?" and he sounds so small and scared in that moment that Sam's heart crumbles like sand.

He stands up, wipes away the tears staining his cheeks, and goes to the door. Unlocks and turns the handle. He cracks it open enough to peek out and see the way Dean's head perks up and how those jade eyes catch on him, a little shiny with unshed sorrow.

"Please don't leave," is all that Dean requests of him. Of course, Sam would never leave. Well, he has and possibly may still, but not for this. Not because of his big brother's unconscious mind. 

Sam shakes his head and whispers, "I'm not gonna leave." The relief in Dean's eyes is palpable.

"You're mad." Not a question. "I get it. I'm sorry. I just wanted to know you were safe in here. I'll leave you al--"

"I'm not mad for the reason you think," Sam murmurs shamefully. His face is still rose blossom red. His throat feels tight, right at the top, and his neck aches where is meets his skull. Silently, he opens the door wider and goes back to his seat on the tub's edge, dropping his face into his hands. Muffled behind palms, he says, "If you're gonna chastise me, make it fast."

Between his fingers, he can see Dean shuffling into the bathroom and hesitantly leaning back against the counter sink, facing him.

"What would I have to chastise you for?" Dean asks gently. "I'm the one having pervy dreams about my..." Dean clears his throat and shifts his weight. "If anything, you should be chastising me right about now."

"No," Sam groans, pushing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Colours burst behind his eyelids as he replies, "You can't control your dreams. I'm the one who's imagining that shit when I'm awake."

An anxious silence dangles between them in the shape of a noose.

Then a single word claws its way from Dean's mouth, a tiny, scratchy, "What?"

Sam forces himself to switch his gaze up and meet his brother's eyes. They glimmer with a mystifying hope. Sam doesn't let himself get attached to it. He knows he must be misreading it.

He admits with guilt cradling his tongue, "I've thought about it. About you. Like that. I have, for a long time. Since I was old enough to know what sex was. I still...think about it. Sometimes when I..." Sam's entire body goes tense as he tries to ignore the growing arousal in his PJ bottoms. "Sometimes I think about you when I touch myself. And not just, like, flashes of random thought. More like...like I imagine it's you touching me instead." He doesn't remember looking away but he feels himself starting to quake with fear as he stares at the ground. "Don't you get it, Dean? I'm the sick one. Again. I'm the one that needs to be fixed. I'm always- _ always _ the one who needs to be fixed; I'm always the sick one. I'm the one who deserves to be hated and yelled at. Not you."

It's hushed after that for so long that Sam almost thinks maybe Dean has left, finally walked away from him for good, or maybe even that Dean was never there to begin with and he's just been talking to himself for the last five minutes in this dingy motel bathroom. Maybe he's hallucinating again. That's happened more than a few times. Wouldn't be a new experience.

But then Dean is crouching before him, devastation dancing in his gently angled features, and he quizzes, "Sammy, if that's how you feel, then why are you so upset?"

"Because, Dean!" Sam erupts, throwing his hands up in frustration. "It's not real!"

"What do you mean? Of course it's real. Sam,  _ this _ is real."

"You don't understand!" Sam cries and curls in on himself. He wishes the sky would split open and a big hand would steal him away from here, hold him in its fist and crush him to death. It would be less painful than the suffocating gravity he feels now. "When you were sleeping and I heard you say my name like that, like I was making you feel good the way I want to, it made me think for a second it might be possible, might be real, but it's not-it's fucking not and it can't be and I can't--" he's rocking back and forth, sobbing into his hands, too weak to go on. When he feels Dean try to pull him into an embrace, he shouts, "Don't touch me!"

Thankfully, Dean doesn't listen, knows he doesn't mean it. Shushes Sam as he bows into his big brother's comforting arms.

"Come back to the bed with me," Dean murmurs into Sam's hair and Sam nods, sniffling. "Yeah?" Another nod. "Okay, come on."

Dean hauls him up to his feet and leads him to the bed the older man was dreaming in just minutes ago. After lowering Sam onto one side, Dean climbs up next to him and tangles their bodies together, still functioning in Big Brother mode. He pets Sam's hair and holds him tightly to his body until Sam is all out of tears to cry and all he can do is clutch at Dean's shirt.

That's when Dean starts slowly cooing, as if explaining to a child, "There is nothing wrong with you. You are not sick. You do not need to be fixed." He brushes the hair back off of Sam's forehead and presses his lips there, warm and sweet. In a quieter voice, he adds, "Whatever you want to be real, Sammy, it can be. I promise."

At this, Sam feels a peculiar thrill jolt through him, even though he still doesn't want to lend credence to any of the implications. Haltingly, he looks up into Dean's face to search for any sign of...well, Sam's not really sure what he's looking for. Regret? Lust? Terror? Despondence? Would it be better or worse if it were one above the other? If it were all four?

"What...you mean..." Sam tries, still hiccuping with defeat. Dean's thumbs are tracing the stubbled skin of his cheek and the smooth arch of his back. If not for the apparent offer on the table, he would have let it put him to sleep, like he used to when he was young.

"If you wanna touch me, Sammy, all you gotta do is ask. I'll let you," Dean's forehead rests against Sam's where Dean's lips had been. "I'd let you do anything. I wanna touch you, too."

Sam stares up at him, eyes shimmering, and asks in a whisper smaller than a pin drop, "Really?"

"Yeah, Sammy. Really."

"...promise?"

A smile lifts Dean's lips. "Promise."

Sam continues probing his eyes for a long moment, reluctant to let go of his doubts, and requests, "Will you kiss me?"

He thinks for a moment that Dean will burst into a fit of laughter and roll away and tell him it was all a prank and that Sam needs serious help, but the pause lasts for less than two seconds. Without a word, Dean curls a finger under Sam's chin, leans in, and plants a cautionary peck on Sam's mouth. He wastes no time then sliding their lips together and shifting his hand up to cup Sam's cheek. They kiss slow and steady and incorrigible, leaving no spaces between them, until Dean hums contentedly and it triggers something inside of Sam that slings him into a restless, feverish frenzy. He tilts his head and prods Dean's mouth open, and once he's got his tongue inside, he runs it over the edges of Dean's perfectly straight teeth, the roof of Dean's mouth, the underneath of Dean's tongue, mapping it all out just like he wants to do to the most intimate parts of Dean.

Sam hadn't noticed, but they've slowly been tipping over so Dean is on his back and Sam is hovering over him, and Sam takes the chance to go directly for his prize: he plunges his hand into the front of Dean's briefs, no indecision to be found. His brother makes surprised noise and fingers sift greedily through Sam's hair as he caresses Dean's length, velvety skin against his palm. 

Dean starts breathing too heavily to keep any sort of kiss going anymore, which is fine by Sam. He simply moves his lips to Dean's throat, where he sucks a hicky directly on top of Dean's adam's apple, then bites into the straining tendons framing the hollow between his collarbones. Sam yanks Dean's shirt up and makes his merry way to Dean's closest nipple, which he lavishes over with his drooling tongue and sucks into a pebbled peak, making sure to skim his teeth over it as he moves on.

He makes a detour back to Dean's ear and whispers, "Wanna fuck you, Dean." The older man releases a high whine as his head falls back onto the pillow and his eyes roll back into his head. "You want that? Want your little brother to fuck you?" Dean nods but it's not enough. Sam wants vocal permission. "Gotta say it out loud for me. I need to hear it, Dean, 'cos otherwise I'm gonna feel like a monster."

As best he can while having his dick pumped by a giant, warm hand, Dean gasps, "Come o- _ ooohhh  _ -come on, Sammy. Want that monster cock inside me." Sam growls at the realisation that Dean has definitely seen him fully erect. At what point is beyond him, but Sam couldn't care less right now. "Yeah, that's right, baby boy. Got a good look at you a couple years ago. Let myself spy on you while you were jackin' off in the shower-  _ ah _ . Got myself off to it. Felt dirty as hell after."

Sam swears under his breath, momentarily losing his rhythm and just pawing mindlessly at Dean's trapped member. When he gathers himself, he takes his hand out of Dean's underwear, reaches over to the pillow Dean was sleeping on, and grabs the lube underneath - just where Dean always keeps it. Don't ask why he knows.

There's a wet spot on the front of Sam's pyjama pants, but he tears them down without a second thought and tosses them away along with his shirt. Dean begins to remove his tee but Sam stops him.

"Leave it. It's hot like that," Sam hisses, and reconnects their mouths. When he pulls back, snapping the lube cap open, he says, "Gonna finger you. Open you up. You want that?"

"Hell yes," Dean scrabbles for purchase on the shockingly silky sheets and manages to arrange himself at the head of the bed. But as Sam is starting to follow, Dean says, "Wait, I need you to grab something."

Sam nods, "What is it?"

"In the bottom right pocket of my duffel bag," Dean points lazily in that direction. "There's a black case with a zipper." 

It takes another agonising moment to find it but once he does, he's back on the bed in milliseconds, shoving the thing at his brother so he can get on with it. Sam doesn't even stop to consider what it is before he's slicking up three fingers and rubbing them against Dean's hole.

His brother gasps, legs twitching open further, and Sam teases the tip of a finger just past the rim before letting it glide in. It fits easily, snugly, which he uses to his advantage, immediately starting up an excruciating pace. Dean's already pushing back into it, whimpers breaking through his lips, but the movement pausing causes Sam to whip his head up, fearful that he's hurt Dean in some way.

What he sees is so far beyond what he expected that he forgets his finger is even in his brother's ass. Beside him, Dean has the black case open to a row of curved metal rods, which Sam determines are surgical steel, in a plethora of sizes. They each have print above them, with the thinnest reading '3mm' in plain black text. When Dean pulls that one out of its slot, Sam finds that it's much longer than he first thought - at least eight inches. He looks to Dean with a questioning gaze and realises he's got his mouth hanging open. Snaps it shut with a click.

Dean's too busy spreading lube over the thing to notice Sam's gaping, but he does notice that Sam has stopped moving and squirms a bit, whining, "Keep going." Sam does, speculating the use of such tools in a situation like this until he recalls something Brady once told him at Stanford and finally recognises them as sounding rods. His staring must catch Dean's eye because suddenly he's chuckling - as much as one can with a finger in their ass and lewd thoughts swimming through their head - and explaining, "Don't worry, Sammy. I know what I'm doin'. Been doin' it for years now. Feels fuckin' good, Sammy. Good as your finger-  _ ah!  _ -make that fingers," Sam's slid another finger in just to test Dean's resolve. He has to admit he's pretty impressed that Dean managed to talk through it for the most part. "I'll get it set up, okay? You just keep-  _ fuck  _ -keep goin'."

Sam doesn't know what he was expecting - Dean being a bossy bottom sort of makes perfect sense. He's always guessed Dean isn't exactly a top or nothin', but Sam could only suspect that Dean would never be satisfied with being his natural bottom self. Either way, Sam smirks. Thinks it's adorable. And fuckin' hot. Jesus, Dean is hot. Especially like this, opened up on two fingers and trying desperately not to get distracted from his other engagement.

Examining his brother's sleek, red cockhead bouncing against his stomach and his neatly groomed balls closely hugging his body, Sam's mouth is suddenly flooded with spit, and he remembers his desire to taste every inch of Dean. With no warning, just as he stuffs the third finger in, Sam dives down and sucks one of Dean's balls into his mouth, moaning enthusiastically at the musky, sleep-sweat flavour, and a yelp rushes forth from Dean's throat.

"Shit! Oh god, Sam, fuck," Dean is back to cycling his hips, splintered breaths coming short and quick. "Fuck fuck fuck, don't stop."

As he says this, he stills himself once more, holds his dick away from his body, and inserts the metal pole into his slit. It slides in easily a little over three-quarters of the way, at which point Dean wiggles it around a bit to get it further inside, and Sam watches the whole thing curiously.

Curiously, and with a vague sense of wanting to fuck it in and out of Dean's cock, that is.

Abruptly, Dean's head jerks back and his legs tremble, and when Sam sees how he's got the rod positioned, he knows for a fact that Dean's found his prostate and is probably seconds away from coming. But, yet again, Dean surprises him by gripping the base of his cock to stop the climax, though Sam's not sure how well that technique works with a rod shoved up your piss-hole. 

Apparently well enough, because soon Dean is releasing the rod, letting the ring at the top stop it from going in any farther, and rolling slowly into Sam's fingers. Both of Dean's arms shoot out to his sides and he fists the sheets up in his hands like if he lets go, he might lose his grasp on reality. And Sam thinks, based on his current state, yeah, the guy just might.

"You want me to fuck you now, Dean?"

_ Nod nod. _

Lining his member up, Sam leans down to press his lips against Dean's ear and whispers, "You want me to fuck you slow or fast?" He watches the goosebumps break out across Dean's clammy skin and smiles smugly.

"Slow," Dean whimpers, so obviously on the verge of a total meltdown if he doesn't get to come soon.

Sam grazes his hands down Dean's sides, landing them on his hips and assuring, "Don't worry, big brother. I'm gonna take care of you. Make you feel so good. Make you scream." His tip pops through the elastic muscle and Dean cries out, one hand flying up to hang onto the headboard. As he feeds himself in deeper, Sam keeps rambling, "Gonna fuck you nice and slow, like I always wanted to." He bottoms out and Dean's cheeks are salty-wet, whole body quivering. "Been waiting so long to hear you beg for your little brother's cock."

With that, Sam pulls all the way out, then slides back in, as slow as he can manage while he's losing control of his heart rate. They pick up their rhythm in no time at all, like they were made to fit together like this. Biologically linked in every way. Their dirty secret comes together again and again, shiny with lube and filthy with sin. Sam holds Dean's hips like he would a girl's, fucks him the same, too, all gentle and sugar sweet. Watches his length disappear over and over again into his brother's hole, entirely too enthralled by the way it stretches out around him.

They mostly make small, quiet noises, like fabric crumpling and lube squelching and heavy breaths against each other's skin. But when Sam's fumbling to stop himself from slamming into Dean's heat, propped up on his locked arm next to Dean's head, hair swaying over his face, something beautiful happens.

Dean uses the hand not gripping the headboard to tap Sam's shoulder and mumble, "Harder."

Happily obliged.

Sam groans and sits back on his haunches, clasps his hands around Dean's hips, and tells him to hold on. With both sets of fingers now white-knuckling the wood above his head, Dean nods fervently, giving Sam the go ahead to jam himself back in on the next thrust.

They both moan loud and long, voices hitching as Sam pounds into him harshly. Sam's not sure when Dean moved up through the sizes - must've been when he was trying to focus on going slow like Dean asked - but when he looks this time, the third size is missing from the case where it reads '9mm'. Dean's always been quick and sneaky like that. And like the time he masturbated watching Sam touch himself.

_ Fuck. _

Remembering that bit of information Dean 'fessed up to earlier has Sam hammering full-force into Dean's ass. He can tell he's about to come, so, wanting Dean to climax at the same time, he sticks his finger through the ring and grabs hold of the tip of the rod, and starts carefully fucking it in and out at the same speed as his own driving force.

As promised, Dean screams - husky and loud enough to definitely be heard through the walls.

"Hah, FUCK!" His arms twist, muscles shifting beneath the skin, tendons straining, as he holds onto the headboard for dear life, pitch of his voice rising until he's practically singing as the rod shoots upward with the impact of his orgasm. 

Sam smartly yanks the metal out and is hypnotised by the amount of cum that spills over Dean's blushing cockhead and onto his stomach and balls and even dripping back onto Sam's member. The sensation and knowledge of having Dean's hot release coating his own skin is what pushes Sam over the edge.

Keeling forward and slamming in one more time, Sam pulses hard and deep inside his brother's channel. The load is so much that it seeps out around his cock and dribbles down onto the bedding.

Covered in cum and sweat and lube, the boys heave air while still attached at the groin, and neither of them could care less about what's probably going to be a steep dry-cleaning bill.

Truthfully, they probably could've fallen asleep just like that, but Dean eventually suggests a shower and Sam agrees, recalling his jog this morning and faintly wondering how much he stinks. 

When they're packed and ready to leave, already checked out at the front desk, they stand just inside the door to their room and share a gentle kiss, a newfound pact, a vow to each other's hearts like never before.

And as their black steed carries them both away into the distance, Dean's favourite Black Sabbath floating in their wake, the room service maid discovers the cum stain and scoffs in both irritation and amusement.

And Sam smiles to himself, knowing that for once, the mark they've left on one of these hundreds of faceless towns, is one of love.


End file.
